


Erotic Hermeneutics of Failure

by TrisB



Category: Community
Genre: Age Difference, Bad Sex, F/M, First Time, Onanism, Second Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:05:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrisB/pseuds/TrisB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her first attempt at sober and well-lit sex with an adult who she likes and it sucked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erotic Hermeneutics of Failure

**Author's Note:**

> Although compatible with current (season three) canon, the bulk of this was written two years ago during the season one winter hiatus and remains set there, timeline-wise, in my heart.
> 
> With thanks to the flu and my best friend's couch, without which I would surely have never been so simultaneously sick yet comfortable enough to write whatever the hell I wanted.

She wants him, that much is clear. Jeff is terrified of what the future may hold, but for now her kisses are assertive enough that he can broker a deal with himself to worry about that later. "Hey," he puts his hands on Annie's shoulders, "are you sure?" though he's sure she's sure, and the answer is an emphatic yes.

It's still a little strange.

They make out, just make out, for a really long time. Longer than he thinks he has with anybody since he was a teenager, which — well. It's exciting, though; it's warm and tugs down from his belly and it's part anticipation that makes it so fucking hot and part the simple and sustained facts of Annie's hair curling underneath his ear, her left hand resting perfectly on his jaw and fingertips grazing his neck, her mouth wanting, wanting, wanting, and the peak of her hips jutting up over his as she avoids contact with the part of him that is most definitely ready to progress onward. When Jeff kisses most women he does it with intent to fuck. He intends that all right with Annie, but she's Annie and she's young and this is how she needs to do things. He's more than okay with doing it her way.

But still he slides his hands under her shirt, hoping; and still she rewards him by lifting it over her head, tossing it to the floor. Her utilitarian bra presents pale cleavage in a particularly maddening way and he groans, first hooking Annie's back with a desperate arm and pressing her down tighter against his chest, wanting her a little too badly to let her hover as she has been above him. She dips her kisses further down the left side of his jaw in answer, sucking harder than is generally considered polite but what the fuck, hickeys come and go but this is lasting forever, and makes a distinctly unsexy noise when she reaches the collar of his shirt.

"Mphf," she mumbles into the cotton now damp from her saliva, and sits up.

Jeff remains obediently still as she pulls off his shirt, but Annie is weirdly thrown. She balances over his lap with her skirt hiked up around her hips and her navy blue stockings tugging down in the other direction, and as he takes this in — this and the smooth torso — this and her full red mouth — he knows he can't wait anymore, digs fingers first into the dipping waistband of her tights, and Annie falls forward over him, looking a little confused.

Whoa. "Are you okay?" Jeff wiggles all of two inches away from her face, which is as far as he can go without tunneling through the headboard.

"Yes, Jeff, now have sex with me," she says bossily as though it's not the most ridiculous excuse for pillow talk ever uttered, and so — the stockings snap down, he helps himself out of his pants and into a condom absolutely not of Greendale STD Fair origins — he does.

Which is awesome unless you were expecting to have good sex, which he only kind of was (well, he had some hopes). Sex where the girl you shouldn't be sleeping with in the first places has a series of worth-it-all overlapping orgasms (Annie gasped several times?), where there are -jobs of any kind, where basically anything that can't be vaguely shown on network television happens. If you were expecting any of that, it's fairly awful sex. But Annie is still Annie, Jeff has lower standards for sex than he'd like to admit though his cellphone address book tells that story for him, and he can't say he'll walk away unhappy with his part of the bargain.

Uncertain what to do now that it's all over, Annie's eyes dart around the room as she looks for her shirt. Jeff saw it slide under the dresser when she flung it off, and he'll tell her that in a second, but apparently he feels it's less over than she does, because he needs to talk about it. (We're over the "men are really girls" jokes stage of our lives, right?) "Annie," he tries, putting his hand with fingers curved to comfort on the knob of her shoulder. "Annie. How are you doing?"

She turns to look at him, bright smile forced, and says, "Great, Jeff! I'm great."

He lies back; directs her to her now-dusty top; lets her bullshit her way out of there without embarrassing them both further by asking her to stay. Her first attempt at sober and well-lit sex with an adult who she likes and it sucked. Jeff has spent a good fifteen years avoiding sober and well-lit sex with barely legal adults who he likes himself. He's not sure where this ever seemed like a good idea.

 

So this is why when he and Annie see each other again for the first time in the library three days later, "shocked" is an understatement to describe his reaction to her unmistakable attempt at a seductive smile and even less mistakable though furtive french kiss at the back of Reference.

"Uh. Hey," he says, going for casual and debonair and probably ending up somewhere near strangled and bewildered, "how's things?"

"Not bad." She bounces in what Jeff thinks is a flirty rhythm and it's so fucking adorable and for some inconceivable reason she still likes him even after having three days to think their thoroughly unlikeable encounter through; he mashes a hand into her dark hair and kisses her excitedly against the complete set of Encyclopedia Britannica. When he backs up to look at her face, a luminous smile has bloomed on her face.

He murmurs, "Got any plans tonight?" He can't decide if he feels more sleazy or inappropriately youthful.

She whispers, "I do," she says, "I'll see if I can fit you in this weekend, Jeff."

Dean Pelton walks by and cries, "Romance in the stacks! Suck on it, Harvard!" Jeff is sad to ponder the possibility that he may have even earned that.

 

He can't keep his hands out of his smart stripey underwear that night, wondering what he did right among all the things he clearly did wrong. How does a girl terrified of sex develop a taste for cock? Not to be gross or anything, but damn. How would he have pictured it, if she were any other girl?

It's hard to kid himself when, Jeff Winger being Jeff Winger, he's had the mental image since the third week he knew her.

She's on her back, hair mussed against rumpling cotton, pillow jammed up behind her head as he takes her from above. She allows him to do all the work. He pushes them both forward and back, heels of her palms pressing up desperately at his pecs and biceps. He's deep inside and he guesses he'll add to this fantasy her real life gasps, but short and regular with his thrusts. (Ugh, sex words. Thrusts.) As orgasm builds in her, her whole pelvis smashes upward against his, and her legs wrap around him, back arching and her head lolling on the pillow even as the rest of her strains away from the bed towards him. He supposes there's an "Oh my god, Jeff, mmm, more,” and some “Yes! Yes! Yes!” only a couple degrees away from the shampoo commercials she’s too young to remember. Of course the vision gets him off, but even in this state, grip just above his balls, Jeff can't help but feel dissatisfied with the scenario. That could be any girl whimpering below him. He imagines her coming again, but without the operatics this time. Pretend Annie’s face scrunches up, almost into a frown; she bites her lip and digs nails into his back. Her chest expands as though she were a drowning girl inhaling, and though she opens her mouth and clearly screams, followed by a shivering shudder, in his revised scenario Annie’s voice never makes an audible sound.

He likes that better. He remembers who she is when he thinks of her that way.

Still he needs a shower after these thoughts and this frankly embarrassing vocabulary, and still he is awake deep into the night, alone in a bed that is far too expensive for fantasies this softcore.

 

Annie has been extremely creative in finding places on campus to briefly, tantalizingly make out — the study group still doesn't know, miraculously enough, and the secret makes those few scorching seconds all the absurdly-better — but as it turns out, she _can't_ fit Jeff in this weekend.

He jerks off a lot, Annie — the real one, not the pedestrian porn extra — and her hot mouth fresh in his mind.

It's two and a half weeks before he gets her to himself again off campus.

 

Long, slow, making out — check. Now that they have significant data to compare — the hurried and barely discreet sessions in dark corners at school (Jeff is now about sixteen) — it's agonizingly fantastic to indulge in Annie's preferred pace of languid, exploring kisses. In fact, this time is even slower and longer than the first. Savoring this is perfect, and there's an element of fear to it, as Jeff doesn't know if when they fuck they'll do any better together than they did the first time. But his body demands they move on anyway, and so, evidently, does Annie's.

"Ohhh," she moans quietly, and without his prompting, removes her cornflower blue top. This is not a flinging, under the dresser rush job. She pulls the hem and trails her fingertips along her stomach with intention. Her right hand lingers at the heart-shaped front of her bra, then slips a finger inside the left cup. Jeff watches the perks of nipples harden through the stretchy white material, the raised bump of her finger beside it, and feels absolutely fucking nuts. He removes his own shirt this time — Annie, it transpires, is busy. The both of them sitting up, he leans forward, dipping his face towards the breasts she is still caressing. She lets him, her hands traveling slowly down her sides, then carefully unzipping her wool skirt, then sliding out of sight between her belly and the skirt's satiny liner. Her eyes roll up sharply. Jeff might die. He knows what she's doing.

She's getting off without him.

Kissing her ferociously, he pushes her on her back and she laughs into his teeth, their bare feet tangling on the pillows at the head of the bed while Jeff rights himself from nearly pitching off the side. "Last time kinda sucked, huh," he breathes while tearing out of the last of his pants.

"It wasn't only your fault," Annie mumbles back. "I was nervous. I wasn't ready."

He sits up again, cock aching to go where her fingers already are. She's barely even touched him. "How do you know you're any more ready this time?" he demands, hating that he has to, but he has to.

She eyes him. "Because I got ready." And she pulls him inside of her.

To be honest, it's still not the best. Jeff knows he's alternately between treating her too gingerly and going too fast — they're demonstrably not in synch, though she doesn't seem to mind him coming forcefully first. Before when they did this, she was eager to please, though obviously bad at it. Now she keeps her focus on her own body, though he's invited along for the ride. He's never enjoyed sex with someone so completely self-centered throughout, but he's also never gotten what he's getting out of this: the knowledge of what she’s been doing and dreaming during the last two and a half weeks, the repeat performance of hands traveling a nervous but ever more confident road as she had reintroduced her body to itself, the recursive mindfuck of being Jeff watching Annie thinking about thinking about Jeff doing to Annie, as he now does to Annie. It's too hot. He gives her head while her legs wobble in surprise and she screams in a way he knows she didn't at home alone, and then he's ready to go again, so she rides him till she does get those worth-it multiple orgasms, bra straps slipping down, pert breasts making their flushed escapes. She’d hung onto her last garments like an old fashioned ecdysiast invoking the law of leaving ‘em wanting more; she only sheds the last of them when _she_ wants more, getting greedier with every naked second. Jeff liked her that way. He likes her this way, too.

"Better?" he asks, later, when they’ve both agreed it's over.

"Getting there," Annie smiles, almost (but not quite) shy.

And they are.


End file.
